


14-Ghosts of Futures Past

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [13]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-05
Updated: 2007-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Boyz revisit Naboo and bring some baggage with them. Padme adds a few things herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	14-Ghosts of Futures Past

**Author's Note:**

> (Thanks to Gloriana and her 2005 (!) holiday card for a little inspiration.)

“Don’t say anything. I’m already having a day,” Obi-Wan warned as he sat down to breakfast with a sigh. “And it’s only just started.”

“So I see,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Accident?”

Obi-Wan smiled ruefully. “More like a chain reaction: a little here, even that up, then it doesn’t match the other side . . . At some point one just thinks—”

“—I’ll just start over,” Qui-Gon finished, all too familiar with the sentiment. He passed Obi-Wan a bowl with a sympathetic look.

“Precisely,” Obi-Wan confirmed with disgust, taking his breakfast gingerly in both hands. “I knew I should have asked you to do it. I just don’t have the dexterity yet.”

The splints had come off his fingers only the day before, and though the joints had healed well this time, they were still stiff and somewhat painful. It would be some time yet before they limbered up enough to allow him to spar—or to trim his beard, apparently. Obi-Wan picked up a piece of the fruit Qui-Gon had already peeled and sectioned for him and fumbled with that, too, as if to prove his point. He rolled his eyes and snorted, but Qui-Gon diplomatically ignored the performance.

“You need a bit of sun to even you out,” the older man observed, then reached across the table and turned Obi-Wan’s face, reacquainting himself with the newly revealed cleft in his chin. “That said, it’s rather nice seeing your face again.”

“You don’t like the beard?”

“I didn’t say that. Both states have their appeal. Occasionally I like to catch a glimpse of the handsome young man that was my last padawan. That’s all.”

“Do you, My Master?” Obi-Wan smirked. “I’d say you get more than a glimpse of him nightly.”

“A subtle one, perhaps, beneath the beard,” Qui-Gon replied, ignoring both the gentle sarcasm and the innuendo.

“I think you’re missing my youth more than I do.”

“You might be right,” Qui-Gon said with a note of teasing wistfulness. “It made me feel young again to have such a youthful lover. Now, though . . .”

“Are you implying—”

But the door slid open, revealing Obi-Wan’s new padawan, before Obi-Wan could fully rise to the bait. “G’morning, Masters,” Jicky said, giving both men a respectful bow and a wary look. You never knew what these two might be up to, and they had an air of mischief about them this morning. “Got something for you from one of the porters,” she announced, handing a small packet off to Obi-Wan and making directly for the table while Qui-Gon finished slicing his own fruit into his hot cereal.

“It’s from Padme Naberrie,” Obi-Wan said with some surprise, passing the heavily embossed paper packet to his master, though it was addressed to both of them.

“So I see,” Qui-Gon replied, thoroughly wiping his fingers before exploring the textured surface of the old-fashioned and very formal card with a delight that never failed to amuse his lover. “She’s about to become Senator Naberrie, and would like the pleasure of our company at her inauguration and the ball to follow,” he added, reading the card.

“At the embassy here or on Naboo?”

“Naboo,” Qui-Gon replied, suddenly looking thoughtful.

Jicky thought this sounded potentially interesting, given that Master Jinn had nearly died there and there was a real Sith involved. But she said nothing, watching expectantly over her bowl.

“Well, that’s out, then. We’ll have to send our regrets along with our congratulations.” Obi-Wan seemed disappointed.

“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, Knight—pardon me— _Master_ Kenobi.” Qui-Gon couldn’t conceal a smirk of pleasure at his former padawan’s new status. Since Jicky’s appearance in their lives, he’d seemed as delighted with her presence as Obi-Wan. “This isn’t the kind of invitation the Council likes to refuse, and it sounds like the perfect mission for a knight who’s not quite ready for strenuous field work—and, of course, his padawan—and perhaps for his aging but still serviceable former master, as well. After all, we have something of a relationship with Naboo and the Naberries. And Force knows we’ve earned a few easy assignments between us.”

Across the table, Obi-Wan’s ears grew points. “That means I might get to dance with you. How delicious. That is, if your aged joints can take it.”

Jicky snickered and reached for a piece of fruit. After less than a ten she’d already become accustomed to the verbal sparring performed by Masters Obi-Wan and Jinn, recognizing it for the form of flirting that it was. Master Jinn still intimidated her a bit, but she’d sized up Obi-Wan in a few days and decided that most of his fierceness was bluff, at least where she was concerned. Though she wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of it as anything but his padawan. Master Jinn, now, though a big softie, was going to be much harder to get around, after three padawans of his own. And living with the two of them was going to be like having two masters. Lucky her, she thought only half-sarcastically.

“Yes, we might get to dance together,” the older master said now, looking both amused and mischievous. Master Jinn, it turned out, was way less serious than Master Obi-Wan, most of the time. “I hadn’t thought of that. That’s worth bribing Mace for. But my joints, unlike yours, seem to be fine; it’s more likely my ancient heart might give out in the excitement,” he countered in a gentle taunt. “Eat your breakfast, my young padawans, and let your aged master machinate in peace.”

 

Qui-Gon must have spent a good deal of the day “machinating” because Obi-Wan saw nothing of him until last meal. He reappeared, sporting a self-satisfied smirk, just in time to find Obi-Wan carefully carrying the last serving dish to the table set for two, indicating that Jicky would not be joining them until later.

“Someone’s looking very smug,” Obi-Wan observed. “I assume your machinations were successful, then, and we’re going to Naboo?”

“You assume correctly, Master Kenobi,” Qui-Gon affirmed, hanging his cloak and removing his boots.

“I look forward to it with anticipation.”

“So do I.” Qui-Gon stalked over to the table where Obi-Wan was putting the last dish down, and rubbed against his rump like an animal marking its territory. “If you keep doing that,” Obi-Wan quavered, putting the dish down with a rattle, “dinner will get cold.”

“Perhaps we should let it,” Qui-Gon growled as he reached around and cupped Obi-Wan’s groin. “We won’t have much more opportunity for impromptu seductions.”

His younger partner shuddered and inhaled sharply, but didn’t move or answer for only the most minuscule of moments. There was an equally fleeting stab of panic through the bond and then it pinched off as Obi-Wan’s shields slammed down. Regretfully, Qui-Gon kissed the back of his neck and stepped back with a tinge of sadness and some chagrin. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing Obi-Wan’s arms lightly.

“No, Qui. It’s not you,” the younger man insisted, turning and slipping his arms around Qui-Gon’s waist. “I just, I still need to work myself up to it. That’s all. It’s not you. Don’t think that.”

“I caught you off guard, didn’t I?” Qui-Gon said, cradling Obi-Wan’s smooth face between his palms. “It reminded you—”

“—of her. Yes. Just for a second. But it was enough to spoil it. I’m sorry. You’re right; we won’t have many more chances like this with Jicky around.”

“Let’s not either of us be sorry, _kosai_. I’ll just be more mindful in the future. In the meanwhile, I’m looking forward to dancing with you.” One hand drifted to the small of Obi-Wan’s back, pressing them together again. The younger man smiled this time as they swayed as one for a moment before moving apart.

“So am I,” Obi-Wan agreed, taking a seat. “When are we leaving?” he asked, as Qui-Gon imitated him and began serving up dinner.

“The day after tomorrow. The Naberries insist on putting us up in their house in Theed. And since we’re allowed a guest each, I thought I’d bring Anakin, since you’re bringing your new padawan.”

“They’ll both be ecstatic, I’m sure. How do you feel about going back to Naboo, Qui?”

Qui-Gon opened his mouth with the word “fine” on the tip of his tongue, then shut it again in surprise when he realized he wasn’t. “Now that you mention it,” he began again, more thoughtfully, “a little, well, ‘odd,’ is the best I can do. That’s very perceptive of you, _kosai_.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “Not really. I’ve got mixed feelings about this trip myself. I’m looking forward to seeing Padme again, and to dancing with you at the reception, but I can’t say I have particularly fond memories of Naboo.”

“Nor I,” Qui-Gon agreed in a subdued voice.

 

* * *

 

 

Under other circumstances, they would have taken a small scout with just the four of them, but Obi-Wan didn’t feel he was up to handling the helm yet and Qui-Gon seldom did himself anymore, though his former padawan dogged him about keeping his credentials current. Instead, they took a small, diplomatic courier, much like the one in which they’d first gone to Naboo to negotiate with the Trade Federation. It didn’t help Obi-Wan’s growing sense of foreboding.

The trip out was very different this time in more than one significant way: Obi-Wan was not only no longer the padawan-in-tow, but had one in tow himself. Anakin’s presence as Qui-Gon’s padawan elect was far less boggling to Obi-Wan than the immediate reality of Jicky’s. He caught himself surreptitiously glancing at her cropped head and short braid, hovering a half-step behind him and to his left, and wondering that she was his. He felt not at all ready to be responsible for someone else’s training, let alone their life. Jicky, for her part, seemed far less fazed by the new development than he, though she met his glances from time to time with a wide grin that covered most of her small face. But then, she probably knew what he was thinking, too—disconcerting in a padawan. Still, the memory of claiming her warmed him even now, more than a ten later.

 

He had gone to fetch her later the same day that their bond had formed, wearing his best field kit and boots polished by his own master. “There’s no excuse for you going to claim your new padawan in dishabille when you’re in temple,” Qui-Gon insisted, and he’d been right, of course. It was an occasion for which it was worth taking some care of his appearance. He and Qui-Gon had both been in the field, grimy and sweaty and exhausted, when they’d finally claimed each other. He was glad this time it would be different.

He’d found her in the creche, just before dinner. And she’d been waiting for him, knowing he was on his way, but not entirely sure of his intentions, despite their earlier conversations.

“Master,” she’d said solemnly, giving him a deeply respectful bow. He’d sensed her nervousness through the bond, and the fear that he’d come to tell her there had been a mistake, that he’d changed his mind. He smiled to try and reassure her and returned her bow as a master to his padawan.

“Initiate Salis. We seem to have had the question of you becoming a padawan decided for us by the Force. Are you still agreeable to having me as your master?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I thought you weren’t ever going to really ask me!” She was all but jumping up and down in her excitement. “This has been the longest day of my life!” And she flung herself against him, hugging him tightly.

Obi-Wan had simply melted then in the heat and light of her happiness, his heart swelling until he’d thought it might burst in his chest. He gingerly stroked her soft brown hair for a moment, careful not to tangle his splints in it, then knelt and returned the hug. Jicky’s thin arms went tightly around his neck, the bond between them pulsing with joy and excitement from both of them. Laughter bubbled out of both of them equally. So unlike his own bonding with Qui-Gon. Almost a gift, rather than the struggle theirs had been. “Well, then. I’m honored to accept you as my padawan, Jicky. Let’s go get you kitted out.”

It had been Qui-Gon who had cut her hair and made her first braid and tied up her tail, Obi-Wan’s splints still limiting his dexterity too much for him to make anything but a hash-up of it, even with the Force. That had given him a pang, that he’d been unable to honor her that way. “But you’ll do it later, when you can,” Jicky had said as though it were a fact, not still a possibility that might not come true. And, “Is there a reason this haircut is so greeby?” she’d asked, frowning at herself in their fresher’s mirror, when Qui-Gon was done with her.

“To teach padawans not to be vain,” Obi-Wan retorted severely, to keep himself from laughing. It was every new human padawan’s reaction, his own included, so many years ago. “That will be your first assignment: to look up the significance of your haircut. I want a 500-word essay by tomorrow night.”

Jicky’s look of outrage had been immediate and transparent. “Now you know all those rumors about what a demanding teacher your master is are true,” Qui-Gon told her, responding to it.

“Yeah, but it’s my first day! I haven’t even officially been a padawan for an hour yet! Don’t I get to enjoy it for a little while?” Obi-Wan had been impressed that there was no trace of whininess in the girl’s voice, just honest incredulity.

“It’s all downhill from here,” Qui-Gon warned her with a wink. Then, belying that, they’d gone to dinner in the main refectory where only knights and masters and padawans ate, introducing Jicky around with obvious pride. She soaked up the new privileges and basked in the congratulations of her master and grand-master’s friends and colleagues, a little overawed that so many of them were Councillors. Even Yoda had stumped over to cackle gleefully at the new development and proffer advice on the care and feeding of this particular master, which Obi-Wan endured with good graces and an amused smile. Afterwards they’d taken her outside the temple for a gooey dessert at Dex’s, where she and Obi-Wan had both been fussed over by Qui-Gon’s Besalisk friend. Finally, they returned her in triumph to her room in the creche, where she was immediately descended upon like a conquering hero.

And Obi-Wan’s days, previously empty and dull, had suddenly been full of skills assessments, forms to be filed, and lesson plans for his padawan’s education. He was more than glad of it. As distractions went, he could not have asked for one that better filled both his mind and his heart. Though Jicky remained in her own room in the creche for the time being, they met each morning for breakfast and each evening for dinner and homework supervision before Obi-Wan walked her back. And now they had a mission.

 

True to form, Anakin spent much of his time in the cockpit, pestering the pilot, when Qui-Gon wasn’t drilling him on protocol with Obi-Wan watching in amusement from the sidelines. Anakin had about as much patience for it as Obi-Wan had had at that age. Who could blame him? Jicky, who’d had plenty of her own drilling in protocol and a briefing on who was whom from her new master, watched from the sidelines too, as bored with it as Anakin. At least her boredom was alleviated somewhat by the fact that she was on her first real mission with her new master. Nothing could take the shine off that.

There had been some tension at first between Anakin and Jicky over her new status, until she’d very pragmatically pointed out to Anakin how lucky he was to know who his master was going to be, while the rest of the initiates had only the hope they’d be chosen someday. “Besides,” she finished up, “it’s not like I’ve even moved out of the creche yet or anything. And who gets all the extra attention from Master Jinn? That would be, hmm, let’s see . . . you!”

But he was grumbling now at Qui-Gon’s lessons. “I don’t see why this is so important. I already know Padme—Senator Naberrie.”

“It’s all terribly tedious, Ani,” Obi-Wan agreed, “but it makes everything go smoothly and keeps people from getting their feelings hurt. After a while, it’ll become second nature to you. You won’t even have to think about it.”

“Of course, there are some people who don’t really need to learn protocol,” Qui-Gon interjected, with an eye to Obi-Wan, “because they’re so naturally charming. Obi-Wan is one of those. And I’m a little worried that you might be, too.”

Anakin grinned up at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan winked back. “On the other hand, Qui, when you walk into a room full of bickering bureaucrats, they tend to automatically stop shouting at each other. I can’t command that kind of respect without working at it.” He laid a hand on Anakin’s tow head. “No matter what Master Yoda says, sometimes size does matter.”

“So if you can’t scare people, then it’s good to be charming?”

“Far better, in fact,” Qui-Gon agreed, casting an amused look at Obi-Wan.

“I’d rather be scary,” Anakin declared.

“Oh, brother,” Jicky muttered under her breath.

Obi-Wan laughed, but there was something uneasy in it that only Qui-Gon caught. “You’ll have to be much older before that happens,” he replied.

 

Naboo was as beautiful from space as they both remembered, and grew more beautiful on approach, but only their pilots and Anakin and Jicky seemed truly moved by it. The view left both Qui-Gon and his former padawan cold. Their reception more than made up for it.

Padme met them herself with only the smallest of entourages that nonetheless included two bodyguards. This struck Obi-Wan as odd now that she had been “demoted” to senator. No longer encased in royal finery and officious distance, her naturally warm personality expressed itself unfettered. And at 16, she had blossomed into a lovely young woman. Anakin seemed more love-struck than ever and visibly tried desperately not to fidget. Jicky was neutrally polite, reserving judgement.

“Welcome back to Naboo, Master Jinn, Master Kenobi, Initiate Skywalker. And welcome Padawan Salis. Congratulations to you and Master Kenobi. The Queen sends her greetings and asked me to tell you she looks forward to meeting you at the ball tomorrow. But I’m happy to be here in her place.” She returned their bows, especially Anakin’s, with equal solemnity, then broke into a broad and happy smile. “Thank you all for coming. I’m so pleased you could. Ani, you’ve grown so much! Look at you!”

“It’s only been two years, Senator Naberrie,” he said with sudden shyness and a pleased look at being singled out.

“Oh, Ani. When did you stop calling me Padme? Has Master Jinn scared you into that?”

“No more than I’ve frightened you into calling me by my title,” Qui-Gon interjected. “I think we’ve all spent too much time in each other’s company for that. It’s good to see you again, Padme. You look lovely.” He leaned over so they could exchange the polite two-cheek peck the Naboo favored.

“Congratulations on your election,” Obi-Wan added, next in line. A somewhat lingering hug was added to the two-cheek peck by Padme. Jicky and Anakin traded looks, Anakin frowning, Jicky with a lifted eyebrow.

“Thank you both. Obi-Wan, how are your hands? I heard about your last mission. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, Padme. Not quite ready for more active duty yet, but it won’t be long, I hope. Thank you.”

“You must be fed up with shipboard accommodations. Come with me and we’ll get you settled. I want you to make yourselves at home and do as you like apart from the official business. You may even have some time for sightseeing as well, if you like. But I’d be honored if you’d join me for dinner this evening. Mercifully, the ceremony itself is rather short, and the ball should be at least mildly amusing.”

“Quite amusing, I would say,” Obi-Wan agreed, with a mischievous wink in Qui-Gon’s direction.

 

The Naberries’s house rivaled the presidential palaces on some worlds Qui-Gon had been to, and Obi-Wan’s own ancestral home on Dannora. Padme seemed a little embarrassed by it.

“We’re a very old family,” she said by way of apology. “This was built back when we were robber barons and only the immediate family and servants lived in it. Now at least it’s full of the extended family and their employees, as well as the headquarters for several of our charitable foundations, so it’s not quite as wasteful as it seems. There’s a guest wing though, so you won’t have to be bothered learning all the names of everyone to-ing and fro-ing unless you actually want to.”

“Well, given our druthers . . .” Obi-Wan began. He was walking arm and arm with Padme, Jicky a step behind, Qui-Gon trailing them with an amused look of his own and a slightly sulky Anakin. “Though if your relatives are half as lovely as you, I’m sure we’d enjoy the experience.”

“See what I mean about charm?” Qui-Gon stage-whispered to Anakin.

“Yeah,” Anakin whispered back grumpily. “Maybe it is better to be charming than scary.”

“It certainly works better on girls,” Qui-Gon agreed.

“Some of us, maybe,” Jicky added doubtfully.

“What are you three conspiring about back there?” Obi-Wan asked, throwing a suspicious glance over his shoulder.

“Master Qui-Gon’s explaining how to be charming, like you, Master Obi-Wan. He says it works better on girls. Jicky’s not so sure.”

Padme attempted to stifle a laugh and Obi-Wan looked momentarily outraged, as he was wont to do when caught out in an obvious maneuver. Qui-Gon merely smiled knowingly, while thinking this might turn out to be a quite pleasant visit indeed.

Their guest quarters were a suite of rooms on an upper floor in one wing of the house. They overlooked sprawling gardens at the back of the house that gave the illusion of being in the midst of rolling country rather than smack in the middle of Theed. Anakin’s eyes went round as saucers at the sight. They’d stayed in far more humble and war-damaged quarters on their first visit, and Anakin—still not widely traveled—had never seen anything quite like this. It seemed to both astonish and trouble him, even more so when a human servant appeared bearing their luggage and inquiring after their needs.

Qui-Gon noted the boy’s expression as he conveyed their preferences for meals and rising times over the next several days and was careful to return the respectful bow the man offered when they’d concluded. That didn’t seem to placate the boy much.

“What’s bothering you, Ani?” he asked, removing his cloak and handing it to Obi-Wan, whose padawan had already set about unpacking them. Qui-Gon sat down on one of the delicate, antique settees and patted the seat beside him.

Reluctantly, Anakin planted himself beside Qui-Gon, a thunderous frown on his face. “I didn’t know they had slaves. I don’t wanna stay here. I don’t want to make people do what Mom and I had to do. How could she do this?”

Jicky snorted.

// _Padawan . . ._ // Obi-Wan sent through their bond in a reproving tone.

// _But that’s such a du—_ //

// _There’s a difference between ignorant and ‘dumb,’ Jicky. Anakin hasn’t been exposed to the cultures or customs you have. He’s also been a slave and you haven’t. You’ll make ‘dumb’ remarks too, remember. If you don’t want yours ridiculed, don’t ridicule others._ //

// _Yes, master,_ // Jicky acknowledged, chastened.

“They work for the Naberries,” Qui-Gon was explaining patiently. “They’re paid a wage and they’re free to leave, change jobs, change employers, take time off, go anywhere any time they like. They have a set shift every day, and go home afterwards. Whatever services they perform, they’re paid for them.”

Anakin looked at him suspiciously, not quite believing him. “He acted like a slave: all ‘yes, ser,’ ‘no, ser,’ all def—defer-whatchacallit.”

“Deferential? That’s not unusual with personal servants, but not required, although no one likes to be served by someone who’s surly all the time. But here, did he seem afraid to you? Or resentful?”

“No, but—”

“His deference bothers you.” Anakin nodded.

“You know, you’re going to be doing stuff for Master Jinn when you’re his padawan,” Jicky called, eavesdropping from where she was hanging their dress blacks in the closet of the dressing room. “That’s what padawans do.”

“And your future master requires a great deal of care,” Obi-Wan added. “I cooked for him, made sure his laundry was done, packed us both for missions, made our travel arrangements, and generally tidied up after him. Come to think of it, I still do.”

“No, I’m doing the packing and the laundry now, Master,” Jicky interjected.

“Sorry, yes, you are, Padawan. Thank you for pointing that out. Credit where credit is due,” Obi-Wan agreed, still not quite used to having someone else look after him the way he’d looked after Qui-Gon all these years. “The cooking part was motivated as much by self-preservation since I soon discovered it was the only way I’d ever get a decent meal. And since Master Jinn has a tendency to just drop whatever he’s holding or wearing wherever he’s standing at the moment, this meant quite a lot of picking up after him,” Obi-Wan smirked. “And I obeyed him. Not always without protest, but I obeyed. In exchange, Qui-Gon taught me everything he knew—or at least what he could get through my thick head. Serving him, obeying him, was never an unequal exchange, as slavery is. And it was never a burden. An annoyance, at times, but never a burden.”

“All right, I get it,” Anakin grumbled, looking embarrassed.

“And in the larger scheme of things,” Qui-Gon added, “Obi-Wan and I are both servants: of the Order, the Republic, but most of all, of the Force. You’ve probably noticed there are few wealthy Jedi, and none of them grew rich in the Order. Obi-Wan, for example, is rather astonishingly wealthy, thanks to his birth family—”

Anakin looked up with sharpened interest at this news, and even Jicky’s attention perked up as she unpacked the last of their things.

“—but my needs are taken care of by the Order,” Obi-Wan finished. “I rarely draw on my trust except in emergencies or to buy the occasional extravagant present for Qui-Gon. In return for our service—which includes being at the beck and call of the Council and the Senate, being constantly sent into danger, never knowing our birth families well, and leaving our friends and loved ones at a moment’s notice—we’re given an education, a vocation, food and shelter, and medical care throughout our lives, and should we live to retire, a comfortable place to do so—but not much of a wage. The difference is that we choose this life.”

“No matter what kind of work one does, as long as it harms no one else, it’s honorable, Ani. There’s no shame in serving others—but there is in forcing others to do so.”

Anakin was silent for a little while, obviously thinking about what had been said. As he did, Obi-Wan toed his boots off partway until Jicky ran to help him. His thanks were all the more genuine because it was still a trial getting them on and off, with or without the Force. He peeled off his socks himself and sank his toes into the plush carpet, enjoying the luxury. Their rooms—two bedrooms, a sitting room and a private fresher—were lushly but tastefully appointed and he’d learned, from years of working and living as a Jedi, to enjoy whatever luxury was offered him while it lasted.

“Master Qui-Gon, if you and Master Obi-Wan—all the Jedi—are servants of the Senate, does that make you Padme’s servant too?”

Jicky perked up her ears at this too, and done with her duties, went to sit beside her master’s chair.

“In a sense, but not in the way the servants you see here are. They have a more personal relationship with Padme and her family than we do. We serve all the Senate as a body, not individual senators, though they may ask for help individually, as representatives of their people, and they may ask for one of us in particular because of our skills. That’s who the Jedi really serve, through the Senate: the people of all the worlds represented there.”

“But not just the people of the Republic,” Obi-Wan added. “The Jedi are sworn to protect all those who cannot protect themselves.”

“And Padme, as a senator, is a servant of her people as well, as she was when she was queen,” Obi-Wan added.

“Wait a minute! She was queen!” Anakin looked thoroughly confused. “How can you be a servant and be queen at the same time? She had all that power! She could do anything!”

“Anakin, only a tyrant has unbridled, unchecked power. Padme’s power was granted her by the people who elected her in exchange for her protection. Who was it who came to plead with the Senate for aid?”

“Padme.”

“And who led the mission to retake the palace?”

“Padme.”

“Why do you think she put herself in such danger?”

“Because she cares about her world.”

“And yet now she’s given up the throne to another, when she could easily have used the confusion and chaos of the war to put herself in power permanently, as many tyrants have. She risked her life for her people, not for the sake of power. On some worlds, elected officials and rulers are called ‘public servants,’ regardless of the power they wield, to remind them that their power comes with a duty to serve the people who gave it to them.”

“Power,” Qui-Gon continued, “is never as absolute as it seems, even when wielded by a tyrant. Even tyrants fear for their lives, more so than honest servants. But sometimes there’s danger in being a public servant too.”

And now the boy looked alarmed. “D’you mean Padme’s in some kind of danger?”

“A very good question, Anakin. I would like to know why her entourage includes not one but two bodyguards.”

Another cheerful young woman in a uniform with the Naberrie crest on it appeared then, bringing a laden tray. “I’ve brought you some cakes and sandwiches as well as tea, Sers, thinking at least two of you—” She smiled at Anakin and Jicky. “—might be a bit peckish after your journey.” Ani flushed and looked longingly at the sumptuous tray, while Jicky seemed pretty interested herself. “Thank you, serrah,” Jicky said with a grin. Anakin echoed her with a certain shyness that Qui-Gon thought probably heralded the incipient onset of adolescence and its accompanying awkwardness with the opposite sex.

“And afterwards, if you’re permitted, there’s a bit of a group of young ones going down to the pool to swim in an hour or so.”

Learning to swim had been one of the high points of coming to the Temple for Anakin, Qui-Gon knew, and he saw no reason to deny him the pleasure now. “Did you bring something to swim in, Ani?”

“No, ser,” he answered miserably, grasping intuitively that there was no skinny dipping when one was a guest of people who loved dressing up as much as the Naboo did. Obi-Wan sympathized. He much preferred the casualness of the Temple about swimming togs. Jicky seemed to be equally nonchalant, as most Temple-raised children were.

“Oh, I think we can find something for a lad your size,” the young woman replied with a smile. “And the young lady too, if she’d like to go. Just ring when you’re ready and I’ll bring togs up and show you where the pool is. Anything else, Sers?”

“No, thank you, serrah,” Obi-Wan replied, giving her one of his dazzling smiles, provoking a light blush in the young woman. “This is lovely.”

“Very good then. Remember, just ring when you’re ready for your swim.” She showed herself out as Jicky poured and distributed cups and plates. Handing Anakin his, she said, “you can unpack your own stuff, Initiate Skywalker.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “I’d planned on it.”

“You’re free to go swimming too, if you’d like,” Obi-Wan told his padawan.

“Thanks, Master. I’ve got some studying to do though.”

“A little advice, Jicky: enjoy the pleasures offered you in the field. There aren’t many of them. You might make some new friends, too. And one never knows how useful or pleasant that can be.”

Jicky looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Master. I’ll go swimming too.”

The two young ones consumed tea and sandwiches and cake thoughtfully and silently, digesting their elders’ words along with the scrumptious food, while the two masters decided what to do with the rest of their afternoon. Obi-Wan sat back with his cup and saucer, one knee crossed over the other, and licked a dab of icing from his thumb, looking more at ease than he had in some time, Qui-Gon thought.

“You realize this is the first we’ve been on a mission together since your knighting?” Qui-Gon pointed out.

Obi-Wan looked startled. “So it is. How odd we’d be revisiting our last one as master and padawan. Still, it feels good to be back in the field again.”

“Even if this isn’t as strenuous as the last time.”

“Yet,” Obi-Wan replied darkly, unable to shake his forebodings.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite that, dinner that evening was intimate and pleasant, or mostly so. They ate a lavish meal that Qui-Gon enjoyed thoroughly and Obi-Wan nearly as much. Anakin and Jicky were a little more dubious about it, but gamely tried everything at least once, as Obi-Wan urged them to. The conversation during it was light and amusing, with both Jedi at their most charming and witty. Anakin and Jicky watched in wonder and admiration as Padme proceeded to charm both of them in turn. By dessert, she was making Obi-Wan color up not with embarrassment but pleasure. Since Master Qui-Gon, oddly enough, didn’t seem at all upset by it, Anakin decided not to be either. They were having too nice a time. Jicky observed it all intently and mostly silently.

Once the dessert arrived, the talk turned more serious. As Obi-Wan suspected, there was more to their invitation than purely pleasure, though that was certainly an element of it. Padme described the rebuilding that had been undertaken and the concurrent shifting of political allegiances since the war. Naboo had two senators—one Gungan and one human, the latter of whom had been Palpatine’s interim replacement on his ascension to the Supreme Chancellorship. Her election had been a hotly contested, closely run struggle between the old guard and the fresh blood that Padme represented. Though she was wildly popular with the general populace since the war, the long-established movers and shakers behind Palpatine and his chosen successor had done everything possible to foil her election.

Including, it seemed, attempted assassination. Hence the presence of the two body guards who were even now outside the entrance to the private room in one of Naboo’s best restaurants where she was entertaining four Jedi.

“I actually felt less vulnerable as queen,” she confided sadly, “with all the attendants and maquillage and costuming and musical chairs to camouflage us all. Now there’s just me.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, laying a hand over hers. “That must have been a frightening experience.”

Padme smiled wanly. “I don’t think I’ve quite grasped it yet. The only people shooting at me during the war were the Trade Federation’s droids. It seems unfathomable that my own people—”

“Everyone has enemies, Padme, even the honorable. You’re challenging a powerful foe, going up against Palpatine and his minions. You must be very careful.”

“‘Minions.’ Now there’s an appropriate word,” she replied sourly. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize before how oily and insincere he is. I can’t imagine how he became Supreme Chancellor.”

Qui-Gon was strangely silent, and had been since their evening had turned serious. Anakin listened to the conversation and watched Qui-Gon’s reactions, which were shrouded in the Jedi expressionlessness Master Jinn was so good at. He was obviously listening intently but seemed to be concentrating on the glass of amber liquid in his hand, swirling it gently and holding it to his nose before taking a sip, then holding it in his mouth before swallowing. He leaned forward now, placing his glass on the table before him and folding his hands beside it.

“Padme, I must advise extreme caution when dealing with Chancellor Palpatine. He is far more wily, more deceptive, more ambitious, and far, far more dangerous than even his enemies suspect. He is . . . not what he seems.”

Obi-Wan betrayed absolutely no reaction whatsoever at Qui-Gon’s words, and yet Anakin felt sure they had surprised and troubled him, and Jicky felt a sudden jolt of alarm through their bond which she struggled not to betray any more than her master had. An electric current seemed to flow around the room, through what Anakin was beginning to understand was the Force. Padme, however, merely frowned in concern.

“What do you mean, Master Jinn?”

“Finis—former Chancellor Valorum—and I are very old friends. We were Senate pages together for a time when I was still a padawan and taking a political science rotation in my studies, and I watched him rise through the ranks as we grew older. I’ve been his informal advisor and confidant for—forgive me—longer than you’ve been alive. What removed him from power was no less than a political coup with an alliance of powerful forces behind it that Palpatine is using to his own ends. I’m not yet sure what those ends are, but it would not surprise me if we were slithering down the slippery slope to martial law and tyranny. I highly suspect much of the crisis which brought him to power was manufactured by him, though I cannot prove it.”

Padme looked stunned, and even Obi-Wan sat back in his chair in the nearest thing to astonishment that a trained diplomat allowed himself.

“Do the Jedi know this? Does the Council?” Padme asked.

“They . . . suspect it. You will not, of course, mention any of this, to anyone outside this room. I only tell you this because you are putting yourself in a position to become his pawn, not through inexperience or age, but simply because of who and what you are. Question everything he tells you.”

Padme smiled again, though it looked more like a grimace than an expression of pleasure. “I’m walking into more of a rancor’s den than I thought, aren’t I?”

“Let’s just say that if planetary politics are fraught with subterfuge, the galactic version is unimaginably more so. The stakes are so much higher, the greed and lust for power more consuming. Finis is one of the few people I know, along with the two senators from Alderaan— Antilles and young Organa—and a few others, who manage to safely walk the tightrope between compromise and corruption. Unfortunately, they are a minority now. Choose your allies carefully.”

“Thank you, Master Jinn—Qui-Gon—for your advice. I hope to become—and remain—one of those senators you admire. I hope I can count on your continuing advice when I take up my post.”

“I will help you as much as I can, Padme, but I may not always be available. And the Jedi must maintain a certain amount of neutrality in politics. Or at least be seen to. I’ve only been able to advise Finis because we are such old friends and everyone knows it. Such friendship as you and I have may mask that as well—or it may only invite suspicion.”

Obi-Wan very carefully did not offer his own aid, for this was one of the areas where he and Qui-Gon held differing opinions. Though Qui-Gon paid lip-service to the theory of Jedi neutrality, he’d been called before the Council more than once for taking sides in a conflict if he thought it the will of the Force.

“Is this why you invited us? Because of the earlier assassination attempt?” Obi-Wan asked instead.

“In part. I hoped your presence here might deter another attempt. I’d like to at least live to take office. But please believe that I first and foremost invited you because I wanted to thank you both again for your help and your sacrifices. This seemed a fairly benign way to do so, since the Jedi aren’t allowed to take gifts. That was my original intent, before the assassination attempt, anyway. I’m sorry it’s worked out this way.”

“Don’t be,” Qui-Gon reassured her. “I’m quite enjoying my stay here, and I’m sure Obi-Wan and Jicky are as well.”

“And me, too!” Anakin piped up.

“A little extra vigilance is a small price to pay for your company, the pleasant quarters, the food, and the chance to dance with Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan added, smiling.

“I hope the rest of your stay is as uneventful as it’s been today. For all our sakes.”

They returned to Padme’s home later that evening, after discussing security arrangements for the ceremony tomorrow. They would meet in the morning with Padme’s security chief to review the plan and offer their services. In the meanwhile, Qui-Gon and Anakin returned with Padme in one speeder, and Jicky and Obi-Wan, driven by another security guard, in another. All the way back, Obi-Wan worked his hands repeatedly through the exercises he’d been given to limber and strengthen his grip. By the time they reached the Naberries’s house, he was sweating with pain.

Qui-Gon noticed. Jicky knew he did, but she said nothing, merely gave her master a reproving look and turned away to climb the stairs to their suite. Trundled off to bed soon after they reached their rooms, Anakin bet Jicky that Obi-Wan would be hearing about it later. It wasn’t much of a bet, she decided.

 

Obi-Wan sank into the chair with a sigh and leaned down to unbuckle his boots for the second time that day. The exercise, he thought, would also be good for his fingers, but it was a tortuous process getting them to work. “Damn,” he cursed under his breath, struggling with the leather straps and buckles. “Damn, damn, damn—” And Qui-Gon’s big hands closed gently around his own, stilling them.

“Breathe,” Qui-Gon said softly. And, when Obi-Wan had obeyed him, inhaling and exhaling slowly, feeling the anger leave him: “What are you afraid of, _kosai_?”

He looked up then, into the deep, calm blue of Qui-Gon’s eyes so close to his own. “Being too crippled to watch your back.”

Qui-Gon gave him his maddening lopsided smile. “If I remember correctly, it was my front that was the problem, last time.” He leaned his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “That was then, this is now,” he murmured, and tilted his head to capture Obi-Wan’s mouth.

And Obi-Wan let him, sinking into the kiss, opening to it and to this moment in time where there was no fear, and no need for it.

When they came up for air again, he was calmer and centered. Qui-Gon was still holding his hands and smiling fondly at him. “Qui, tell me what you know about Palpatine. Does the Council truly think it was a coup that unseated Valorum?”

Qui-Gon settled back on his heels and reached for the buckles of Obi-Wan’s boots. “Yes, they do, though again, that’s not to leave this room.”

“Is that what your—”

But Qui-Gon was already shaking his head. “Don’t. Please. Let’s just say that while you’ve been away, plans have been made. Finis and I have seen a good deal of each other, for the first time in many years, as he’s still representing his homeworld. He’s the one who’s been telling me about Palpatine. I’ve had a chance to study the man myself, as well. When Padme called him oily and insincere, she didn’t realize that’s the least of it. There’s something . . . occluded about him. In the Force.”

Qui-Gon looked up at him again, meeting his gaze squarely, and Obi-Wan knew.

“Oh gods, Qui,” he murmured, covering his face with his hands. “I’d hoped—”

“It’s not too late for hope, _kosai_ ,” Qui-Gon said gently. “But we must protect Padme. It was no coincidence that the war started during her reign, or that there have been attempts on her life since. He fears her for some reason.”

“No. There are no coincidences,” Obi-Wan agreed. “She and Anakin are connected somehow, too.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and removed one of Obi-Wan’s boots, setting it aside, then started on the buckles of the second. “You speak as if you know that for certain.”

“Not for certain, no. But I’ve . . . seen things.”

“In your knighting vigil?”

“And other times.”

“Ah.” He pulled off the other boot and set them side by side next to Obi-Wan’s chair, then sat back on his heels. “I’ve not given your prescience enough credit through the years, love. Because it’s not my talent, I don’t completely understand it, and when you were my padawan I worried that it would distract you too much from the moment. You never told me about your vigil; is that why?”

“In part. You’ve always seemed rather dismissive of my visions. And as Yoda says, they are only possibilities. But the things I saw then—” He stopped, shaking his head. “They don’t just frighten me, Qui, they terrify me.”

“Tell me.”

Obi-Wan exhaled heavily. “It doesn’t seem much in the telling. What frightens me is the, the darkness over everything, like the light we serve has gone out. Or been extinguished.”

“What did you see?” Qui-Gon asked again.

“You’ve already heard what I saw in part before I went looking for Jicky. There’s more though: I saw the Temple destroyed, gutted. You, dying in Bruck’s arms, with your hair gone all silver. Bruck, dead too soon, and long before you. Me, gone old and grey and arthritic, hobbling alone across the dunes of Tatooine. A young boy who might be either Anakin’s—or, or mine, I suppose. It’s all a jumble. Some of it fits together, some of it doesn’t.”

“And Anakin?”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said heavily. “Qui, you must be very careful with Anakin. You were right to bring him to us, to the Jedi, but he needs an extraordinary master. And I think you were right about that, too. I think if anyone can keep him from becoming what I saw, it’s you, no matter what the Council thinks. If anyone can keep him from the Dark, you can.”

Qui-Gon’s eyebrow rose again. “After my failings with Xan—”

“Precisely. You do usually manage to learn from your mistakes,” Obi-Wan shot back with a smile.

“What did you see?” Qui-Gon asked a third time.

“I think you know. So much power in the wrong hands—what else would he become?”

“But you’ve no inkling of how?”

“No. I never seem to know the how of it. Until we know who that dead apprentice Sith’s master is . . . If it’s who you think it is, Anakin will have to be kept away from him. And his agents. Whoever they are.”

“Quite.”

Obi-Wan shivered as though he were cold. Qui-Gon took his hands and unfolded himself, getting to his feet and drawing Obi-Wan up out of his chair into his arms. He pressed his lips to the top of Obi-Wan’s head and murmured against it, “If I told you there were plans being made, all this taken into account, would it allay your fears? I suppose not.”

“This does,” Obi-Wan said quietly, leaning against Qui-Gon’s large and solid frame. “For the moment.”

“Then come to bed and sleep in my arms. We have an early meeting with Padme’s security chief.”

 

* * *

 

 

He’d gone to sleep on his back in the unfamiliar bed—watchful as he would have been on any mission and perhaps more so here, after that evening’s conversation—with Qui-Gon’s arm flung around him, possessive and affectionate but not confining. In the night, his master had moved closer against him and slipped a leg between his own. Qui-Gon was snugged close now, his forehead resting against Obi-Wan’s hair, Qui-Gon’s breath warm against his neck, Qui-Gon’s body aligned beside him, legs entwined. It was a reversal of their usual favored attitudes in bed and he wondered sleepily at it, and at what had woken him. Then Qui-Gon shifted against him.

 _Ah._ Still pleasantly half asleep, he checked his shields and reached down and closed his hand around his lover’s erection, getting a soft gust of sigh and a wordless murmur in his ear in reaction. He turned his face, nuzzled the beaky, broken nose, found the lips and pressed against them. In a moment, they moved beneath his own and parted, letting him in. He squeezed the velvety, solid cock in his hand and Qui-Gon’s hips rocked against him.

The kiss warmed and the bigger man moved to give him more access. Then, with an impossible ease for someone who had just been sound asleep, Obi-Wan was covered by a large, heavy body that slid against him and slithered between his legs, pinning him. Qui-Gon turned the kiss back on him, pressing into his mouth, tongue greedy to taste him. Feeling absurdly crushed by the sudden weight, he froze—breath stopped, muscles locked—trapped and suffocated and unreasoningly panicky. His hands came up against the broad shoulders, started to push—

Almost at once, Qui-Gon broke the kiss and levered himself up, taking half his own weight on one hand and elbow. That left only Qui-Gon’s pelvis pressing down on his own. “Hush, shhhh, shhhh, it’s all right,” Qui-Gon murmured against his skin, nuzzling him. “Just be in the moment, with me, love.” Rough knuckles stroked the side of his bare cheek until his breathing slowed again and the panic lessened. Warm breath flowed over his face, his neck, followed by soft kisses against his eyebrow, his forehead, his temple. Then a wet tongue drilled into his ear, accompanied by the rumble of Qui-Gon growling.

Obi-Wan squirmed frantically and erupted into laughter. “Agh! Stop it! You know I hate that!” Even so, it dispelled the last of his panic, as Qui-Gon had intended.

“What about this, then?”

Obi-Wan was still chuckling as the warm lips moved down his throat, and began to nip and lick as a big hand moved under his left shoulder, lifting him a little. A whisper of hair slithered across his skin. His own hands found their way over the long, familiar torso of the man on top of him, now a welcome weight.

“This patch of skin, right here, Padawan—” another lick, another nibble, the voice before and after low and gravelly, thick with love and passion, “this is bliss, the way you taste.” The mouth opened and began to suck gently, willing a passion mark into evidence.

Obi-Wan arched his neck back, letting the sensations fill him. Qui-Gon hovered over him, slowly marking and devouring him, sending little shivers through him and in their wake, a heat that pooled in his groin. His cock filled, bumping against Qui-Gon’s thigh and he arched his hips up to rub it on whatever part of his lover was available. Qui-Gon took more of his weight on his knees and Obi-Wan lay in his arms, back bowed slightly, fingers gliding over his lover’s skin as his cock filled more and rose between them. Some small noise escaped him and Qui-Gon paused momentarily.

“Let me hear you. You’ve been so quiet. I miss that.”

“Qui, I—” he started, muscles tensing again.

“Just let go.”

“I can’t—”

Qui-Gon stopped his protest with a kiss, slow and hot, his tongue pushing into Obi-Wan’s mouth and gliding against his own the way their cocks were gliding together lower down—Qui-Gon’s method of getting his way. And it worked, to a point. Slowly, Obi-Wan found himself relaxing into the taste of Qui-Gon and the pleasure of being tasted in return, and the lovely friction of their bodies sliding against one another. Then his lover broke away and there was a brush of beard and mustache over his lips to his chin, while Qui-Gon delved into the cleft there. “I’ve missed this, too,” he murmured, nipping it.

“I’ll shave more often,” Obi-Wan answered breathlessly, as Qui-Gon’s lips moved slowly down his throat once more to the line of one collarbone, nibbling.

“That would be nice,” Qui-Gon agreed, rubbing his own bearded chin over his lover’s right nipple before closing his lips over it and sucking. Obi-Wan gasped as the sensation went straight to his cock, as though there were a wire stretched taut between them. A hot, wet tongue moved over the rucked skin followed by more suction. When thought came back to him again, his hands had woven themselves into Qui-Gon’s thick hair and were tugging gently to the left.

Qui-Gon obliged, flashing him an evil smile in the grey darkness as he moved from one nipple to the other and repeated the actions. Obi-Wan moaned softly and rolled his hips up as Qui-Gon moved against him. “That’s it,” Qui-Gon murmured against his skin, hot breath flowing over his chest. Qui-Gon rubbed his face into the thatch of hair there, scratching pleasantly, then moved down, mouthing Obi-Wan’s skin as he followed the slim line of copper hair over layered and sculpted muscle, down to Obi-Wan’s navel.

Hot breath. A wet tongue, probing. Soft lips. Suction. Nips. All moving steadily southward from his navel. The lightest brush of beard over his cock, down, then up, rubbing slowly back and forth on the sensitive spot beneath the crown. Obi-Wan shuddered hard and clutched the sheets.

 _Oh gods_ , Obi-Wan thought. _He’s doing that again._ When he wanted to, Qui-Gon could perform the most amazing fellatio, spinning it out far longer than ought to be possible and holding his lover on the edge of orgasm for an interminable time. Usually, he was far more interested in fucking or being fucked, but every now and then he would surprise Obi-Wan with one of these, usually driven by some ulterior motive, whether it was distraction, apology, or a special occasion. He wondered briefly which this was—and then Qui-Gon’s mouth closed around the head of his cock and other thoughts and sensations became superfluous annoyances, fleetingly noted and as quickly forgotten.

One callused hand closed around him while Qui-Gon pushed his foreskin back with the tip of his tongue, playing over the sensitive crown as he did so. It glided along the slit then, licking the pearls of fluid from it. He felt pursed lips pressed against the tip first in a kiss and then with a brief burst of suction that brought Obi-Wan’s hips up off the mattress and pulled a short startled cry from him.

“Yes, like that,” Qui-Gon encouraged, then went back to what he was doing.

Obi-Wan felt a hot mouth close over the crown of his cock, the pressure of tongue on the underside, and the slow progression down it until he was nearly swallowed up, the crown tapping the back of Qui-Gon’s throat. Qui-Gon moved up again, equally slowly, with enough suction to take the plating off a speeder exhaust. Obi-Wan squirmed and writhed beneath him, fingers digging into the mattress in an agony of pleasure, and Qui-Gon came up off his lover’s cock with a loud _pop!_

“Little gods Qui . . .” Obi-Wan swore softly. “Don’t stop—”

“I’ve no such intentions,” he answered. Then a hot, wet mouth engulfed him again, rising up and gliding down his shaft smoothly, accompanied by a skillful application of tongue and fingers. Another warm hand closed around his scrotum, rolling his testicles and squeezing gently.

In a few moments, Obi-Wan was panting and whining and writhing on the sheets, clutching randomly at Qui-Gon’s hair and the linens he lay on. Pleasure crashed through him like waves on the shore.

“Qui, Qui! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Oh gods!”

Another time, not so long ago, he would have shouted it, begging shamelessly. Now it was a low murmur, a quiet plea—partially in consciousness of their surroundings, partially because he couldn’t bear to hear himself anymore. Without the volume, there was a tinge of disappointment in the bond between them, a cooling of the heat and darkening of the light that was Qui-Gon’s flame in his mind. That saddened him, but the memories of his last mission were still too newly recovered. _She_ had made him beg and _she_ had made him scream, and the words and sounds were too fresh in his head for him to want to make them again, no matter what Qui-Gon wanted. He was holding a part of himself back, and he knew it. Suddenly he couldn’t stand it, any of it.

Another time, they would have made a game of it: Qui-Gon trying to ruin his lover’s control, Obi-Wan holding out with every iota of Jedi ability he possessed, just to make Qui-Gon work harder and all of it last longer. They would have both reached several plateaus first, and it would have ended in thrashing and shouting and a spectacular orgasm for at least one of them, possibly both, and the deep, contented sleep of lovers.

This time, Obi-Wan let himself come at the first hard spike of pleasure, bucking up and filling Qui-Gon’s mouth, leaving him sputtering and surprised. It was almost comical. It might have been if Obi-Wan hadn’t done it purposely to bring Qui-Gon’s efforts to a premature end. Instead of an enjoyable game, they felt too much like manipulation. He fought down the surge of anger that brought and let it go into Force with a few deep breaths.

He ran his fingers through Qui-Gon’s hair, pushing it behind his ears. “Did you come, love?”

“No.” And there was just the mote of an exasperated sigh in the answer as Qui-Gon wiped his mouth. “Obviously I’m doing something you don’t like.”

“Come here,” Obi-Wan said. “Tell me what you want.”

“I can’t have what I want,” Qui-Gon said sadly. “I want us the way we were. I want you the way you were before she—”

“Damaged me.” There was no use calling it anything else. “It’s too late for that, love.”

“I know.” Qui-Gon lay down beside him and wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, pressing his hot erection to his lover’s hip. “I just want you _whole_ , again. _Happy_.”

“I’m afraid you’ve got the high-strung and worse-for-wear model, Qui, at least for right now. That doesn’t stop me from loving you. I just, I need a little more control right now. What do you want?” he repeated. “Do you want me to ride you? Did we bring lube?”

“Yes, and yes.” Qui-Gon’s voice went gravelly again in his ear. “Where’s the light? I want to watch you.”

As the light came up to Obi-Wan’s command, Qui-Gon threw off the covers and found the lube. Obi-Wan straddled him and leaned down to kiss him tenderly. “I love you,” he whispered. “So much.”

“I know,” Qui-Gon answered, nuzzling back. “I love you too. I’m sorry—”

Obi-Wan pressed his fingers to Qui-Gon’s lips. “Shhhh. No apologies. Give me the lube.”

“Let me,” Qui-Gon said instead.

Obi-Wan knelt up and shuddered when Qui-Gon’s gentle, calloused fingers stroked over his perineum and around his opening as though exploring for the first time. He let his head drop in pleasure as Qui-Gon pushed one slick finger into him, twisting it, then pushed back as another joined it, stretching him open slowly and carefully, spreading lubricant generously. He cried out softly and shivered as they curled against his prostate and his cock slowly began to fill again. He helped it along with one hand as Qui-Gon stretched him more.

“That’s enough,” he gasped finally. “I’m ready.”

“I want to see your face. Look at me,” Qui-Gon demanded.

Trembling with need but annoyed with Qui-Gon’s orders, he held his lover’s stiff prick against his opening and sank down on it in one swift movement that made the older man thrash and cry out beneath him.

The sound gave Obi-Wan a dark sense of triumph. “What’s that phrase?” he said. “‘Rode hard and put up wet’? That’s going to be you in a very short while.”

“Good,” Qui-Gon grunted. “Less talk. More act—Ah—Yes—Yes . . .” he ended in a drawn-out hiss of pleasure as Obi-Wan began to ride him.

They watched each other in the room’s dim light, Obi-Wan rising and falling on Qui-Gon’s cock, fisting his own in the same rhythm, Qui-Gon’s hands in a pulsing, iron grip on his lover’s thighs. When the big man’s eyes closed and his head pressed back into the pillow, Obi-Wan slowed his rhythm until he was barely moving, filling himself with the velvet-and-steel of his lover’s prick. Then he clamped down.

Qui-Gon hissed. It might have been frustration, it might have been the edge of ecstasy now denied. His fingers dug into Obi-Wan’s thigh muscles hard enough to bruise. “Sith take you!” he choked, eyes flying open. “What are you doing?”

“Riding you hard.”

The answer was met with a slow smile that Obi-Wan knew was a challenge. “Do your worst, Knight Kenobi.”

“You’ll be sorry, old man.” Obi-Wan leaned down and licked his throat. “You’ll be calling me ‘master’ before I’m through with you,” he growled, lifting Qui-Gon’s hands from his thighs and pinning them against the mattress.

He began to move again then, just a little, the angle perfect against his prostate. The slow slide inside him and the trickle of electricity slithering up his spine had him shuddering and panting before long and he looked up to see Qui-Gon watching him avidly. “You’re so beautiful like this, _kosai_.”

Obi-Wan smiled wickedly and drove himself down hard, which made Qui-Gon gasp and buck up against him. He sent the older man spiraling up again toward orgasm and when he’d almost reached it, held him there until the moment had passed and Qui-Gon was growling in frustration. Then he started all over again.

By the fourth time, Qui-Gon was shaking, sheened in a fine sweat. “Obi-Wan, gods, please—”

“Please what?”

“Let me come!”

Obi-Wan pinched one nipple hard. Qui-Gon bit his lip to keep from moaning. “Please what?” he repeated, moving over him slowly, filled with a sinister pleasure to have turned the tables so surely.

“Obi-Wan—” Qui-Gon was looking thunderous now, and a little desperate, if that combination were possible.

Mercilessly, Obi-Wan pinched the other nipple and did get a moan this time along with squirming. “Please what, old man?”

“Let me—”

Obi-Wan leaned down and sucked a vicious passion mark into the join of Qui-Gon’s shoulder and neck, leaving not just a bruise but teeth marks. Qui-Gon whimpered, his hands still captive. “Remember what I said you’d be calling me?” Obi-Wan growled. He could taste Qui-Gon’s heat as well as feel it through the bond now, with his arousal at a near fever-pitch. “Do it. Do it now.”

“Master!” Qui-Gon gasped. “Please, Master, please let me come.” It was almost, but not quite, a whine and definitely begging. It filled Obi-Wan with a not entirely pleasant sense of power.

“Are your balls aching?” Obi-Wan reached back and squeezed them just a little.

Qui-Gon gasped and cried out. “Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Master. Please, Master—” There was real desperation in Qui-Gon’s voice now, as well as a low whine that could have been pain or just plain pleading. “Let me come, Master, please. Ride me hard, Master. I need to come, Master. I need you.”

Obi-Wan began to move again, rising and falling quickly and hard as Qui-Gon bucked against him, both of them fucking in earnest. When Qui-Gon’s big hands began to scrabble at the sheets, Obi-Wan let them go and moved back, taking more of his lover in with each fall and thrust. Qui-Gon whined and panted, “please, please, please, oh gods, Master, please, hurry, please, please, hurry, hurry, hurry—” They had gone long enough without lube that Qui-Gon’s cock was like sandpaper in him. He would feel this in the morning; it would make walking a precarious activity and shitting painful. None of that mattered right now. What mattered was that he had made Qui-Gon beg shamelessly. _Now you know what it feels like,_ Obi-Wan caught himself thinking.

Obi-Wan’s hands came to rest atop Qui-Gon’s where the older man gripped his thighs. He contracted around Qui-Gon each time he rose and it was only a few short moments before his lover went rigid beneath him, back bowed, eyes rolling back in his head, hips bucking helplessly as he emptied himself into the man above him, completely undone. The noise was extraordinary, more like one Obi-Wan would make himself than any he had ever heard come from Qui-Gon, something between a shout and a sob, a desperate, horrible sound. It utterly deflated Obi-Wan’s own pleasure in the act.

For a few moments, they stayed as they were: Qui-Gon on his back breathing raggedly and moaning with each exhale; Obi-Wan straddling his lover’s hips, panting and sweaty himself but unsatisfied, limp cock in hand. When he knelt up, the muscles in his thighs trembled and burned, and the finger bruises Qui-Gon had left throbbed. Qui-Gon’s cock slipped roughly out of him, pulling a hiss from both of them. They’d be sore in the morning. Semen trickled from Obi-Wan’s painfully stretched arse and he’d have to get up in a minute to clean up. Right now he wasn’t sure he could. Instead, he carefully spread himself across his lover’s long body. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, feeling ashamed of himself now.

A trembling hand came to rest on his head, fingers combing through his hair. “Whatever for, _kosai_?” Qui-Gon’s voice was shaky and rough. “Whatever you think you were doing wrong, I can assure you it wasn’t. Rode hard and put up wet indeed.”

Perhaps that was all right, then. “The rider’s done in, too, if that’s any consolation,” he murmured into Qui-Gon’s neck, nuzzling the passion mark he’d left. Fortunately, their blacks had high collars so this wouldn’t show. Much. “Good?”

“Excellent.” Qui-Gon managed rather drunkenly before sleep took him prisoner.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan peeled himself away and staggered to the fresher in their suite to clean himself up, at least perfunctorily, and returned to bed. For a moment, he propped himself up to look at Qui-Gon’s content and sleeping face, still filled with a vague distaste for his own behavior. He’d taken something out on Qui tonight, some sense of helplessness that he would have to come to terms with yet, and banish from their bed. But that would have to wait. He surrendered to sleep finally too, mere seconds after wrapping himself around his lover’s warm body.

Two rooms away, Jicky stirred in her sleep uneasily and curled up tighter as her master’s shields dissolved in sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Hours later, Obi-Wan was kissed awake to find bright sun creeping into their suite between the slats and drapes.

“Mmmph, timezit?” he mumbled, burrowing back into his pillow.

“Time to get up, sleepyhead,” Qui-Gon replied with a note of indulgence in his voice. “Tea and breakfast will be here soon. Anakin and Jicky are already up and need to be fed.”

“Oh gods, they’re like you, morning creatures,” Obi-Wan moaned.

“Most young ones are. It’s teenagers who’re so slothful. You’ve just never outgrown it.”

“Now I remember why Bruck’s so pleasant to sleep with,” Obi-Wan sighed and sat up, hissing as he did so, his nether regions complaining of their rough treatment in the night. That brought back a pang of conscience as well. “Qui, last night—”

“Sore?”

“Yes, but that’s not—” he began, only to be soundly and enthusiastically kissed until he pushed his lover away, breathless.

“That’s my opinion of last night,” Qui-Gon said. “If there’s something troubling you, we’ll have to discuss it later.”

Obi-Wan frowned, but let it go, since they were working. “Very well. Go shower, old man. You smell like a brothel. I’ll feed the creatures.”

 

They washed and ate and dressed in their blacks—all but Anakin, who was in his best Initiates’ whites—and met with Padme’s security chief to offer their services. These were gladly accepted and they spent the morning going over the arrangements and reconnoitering the locations and the route between them. The two Jedi, it was decided, would be part of Padme’s personal entourage, one of them riding with her at all times. Obviously, this would be Qui-Gon.

“I don’t like us being separated.”

“I need you to cover our back, Obi-Wan.”

“Or to watch you get killed.” _Again_. The word was almost audible through the bond, as it would have been the first time they came here.

“Not if you and Jicky and Anakin are watching my back. I’ll do nothing foolish. As you said earlier, I occasionally do learn from my mistakes. And what I said yesterday still applies. That was then, this is now. It’s a different situation. We’ve worked as bodyguards before.”

Obi-Wan scowled. “I don’t like it. But I don’t suppose I have any option. You’re the logical choice to go with her, not me, with my crippled hands.”

“Nothing has crippled your ability to use the Force, Master Kenobi,” Qui-Gon reminded him sharply.

Obi-Wan looked startled for a moment, then briefly annoyed, and then chagrined. “True. I suppose I’m wallowing, aren’t I?”

“A bit,” Qui-Gon agreed. “And I’ve been coddling you. Time for both of us to stop. We have work to do.”

 

The ride to the ceremony was uneventful, but Obi-Wan’s sense of imminent danger jangled his nerves all the way, making Jicky as restless as he. Even Anakin shifted uneasily in his seat, either because of his own sense of danger or because he was picking up Obi-Wan’s state of mind. They were following Padme’s closed speeder in one of their own with an escort of speeder bikes for both.

“Something’s wrong,” Anakin said finally, looking up at Obi-Wan with wide eyes. “Something bad’s going to happen.”

“Yes, quite probably,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Keep your eyes open, but if something does happen, I want you to follow Master Jinn’s orders and stay back from it. Understood? None of your ‘accidental’ helping.” The latter was said with a half smile to take the sting from it.

Anakin grinned. “Yes, ser, Master Obi-Wan.”

“Jicky, we haven’t fought together yet, not even to spar, so I want you to pay close attention to the bond and to be aware of the moment. That’s all you need worry about. The Force will guide your actions if you listen to it.”

“Yes, Master. I won’t fail you.”

He stroked the soft brush of her hair. “I never thought you might,” he told her with utter confidence.

He and Qui-Gon had suspected that the attempt, should there be one, would be made some time during the swearing-in itself, or in the confusion of vacating the platform that had been set up for the occasion in Theed’s central square. Unfortunately, they were right. The Central square, built around an enormous fountain and lined on three sides by low government buildings and on the fourth by Theed’s river, was filled almost to capacity with brightly colored Naboo in all their finery, and not a few Gungans as well. Security snipers were stationed on every other rooftop.

Qui-Gon stationed himself obtrusively at the edge of the little party of well-wishers that included Padme’s parents, looking alert and imposing and intimidating. Obi-Wan and Jicky watched the crowd from the foot of the platform, Anakin nearby. The ceremony went off without interruption. Cheers and applause and balloons and streamers went up and came down as Padme accepted the tokens of her new office, a book and a stone orb symbolizing Naboo. Handing them off to one of her assistants, she made a brief speech, took a moment to wave to the cheering crowd, then turned to make her way down the steps to the closed speeder awaiting her. The stair was at the side of the platform and Padme was in the middle of it when the attack came.

As was the way of such things, several things happened at once. For Padme’s two Jedi protectors and their two young proteges, the sequence of events seemed crystal clear as time slowed to a succession of individual moments, leaving all of them with a seemingly infinite amount of time in which to act.

—On the platform, Qui-Gon’s saber suddenly flashed green in the day’s sunlight, deflecting several blaster bolts directly back across the plaza from whence they came, clearly marking their origin by scoring the face of the building above each of three windows.

—One of Padme’s bodyguards, not blessed with Jedi reflexes, shouted “Blaster!” a split second later and pulled her from the stairs onto the ground, shielding her beneath him.

—Qui-Gon vaulted from the platform and took off across the square, the crowd parting magically for him.

—Padme’s bodyguards pulled her to her feet and bundled her into the waiting closed speeder.

—A dark object rolled beneath it.

—Almost simultaneously, Jicky and Obi-Wan both pushed the speeder aside with the Force, sending the vehicle skidding on its repulsors to the other side of the street, from where it raced away.

—Qui-Gon was already halfway across the plaza, chasing his deflected blaster bolts, a small flock of security agents racing to catch up and fanning out to cover the building’s entrances.

—Jicky, recognizing the object beneath the speeder as a detonator, dove for it.

—Obi-Wan shouted “To me!” and Jicky immediately tossed it in Obi-Wan’s direction.

—Instead of catching it, Obi-Wan lofted it straight up into the air with the Force, Jicky adding her own push, high enough that it was invisible and hanging hundreds of meters above the tallest of the buildings.

—As it reached the apex of its climb, the object exploded, where it was mistaken for a fireworks rocket until bits of hot shrapnel began to rain down from it, panicking the crowd.

—“Stay with Padme’s parents, Anakin,” Obi-Wan ordered, and followed Qui-Gon’s path through across the plaza, crowds parting for him almost magically.

Jicky started after her master, as she knew was her place, but Anakin grabbed her arm. “Hey, that guy who threw the detonator! He’s gettin’ away! C’mon!”

Jicky hesitated for a moment, eyes briefly losing focus. Then she frowned. “I hope I’m doin’ the right thing, following you, Skywalker,” she yelled after Anakin’s retreating back. Unlike their masters, padawan and initiate had to fight their way through the crowds until Jicky started to give them a little push with the Force. The bomber was having just as much trouble as they getting through the crowd until a small repulsor pod appeared over it. The bomber leaped for it and would soon have been out of sight. But Jicky planted her feet, reached out, and yanked harder than she ever had before, pulling bomber and repulsor pod to the ground again in a heap.

“Short it!” Jicky yelled, still struggling with Anakin through the crowd.

“I don’t know how!”

“Get inside it! Think what the circuits look like. You’re the one who’s so good with the tech!”

Anakin stopped dead in the crowd and closed his eyes, a frown creasing his forehead. Jicky pushed on past him heading for where bomber and repulsor pod had gone down together in the crowd. A small space had cleared itself around him and Jicky went in with her saber drawn but not ignited, for fear of hurting someone in the crowd. The man was just picking himself up from the ground, dazed from the height of the fall, but not so dazed that the sight of her saber igniting kept him from drawing his blaster.

 

// _I’m going after the guy with the detonator, Master,_ // Jicky told her master through their bond.

// _Be careful, Padawan,_ // Obi-Wan admonished. // _Don’t endanger yourself or anyone else._ //

// _Yes, Master._ // Obi-Wan could hear the eye-rolling. They’d have to have a talk about that attitude when this was all over.

Qui-Gon was already climbing inside the lowermost window marked with a blaster score, having made an impossible, Force-assisted leap three stories from the ground to the window ledge. He was perhaps three minutes behind the former occupant and could hear feet pounding down the building’s internal stairs. None of the buildings around the plaza were more than six stories and this one was one less. Hopefully, there was still time to cut off the two snipers in the upper floors. He would leave the third from this floor to the security detail and Obi-Wan.

Saber drawn and ignited, Qui-Gon edged into the hallway of the office building, senses tingling. The hallways were wide and dimly lit but empty; there was a door to the emergency stairwell just across from the office whose window he’d entered through. He edged into the stairwell and carefully made his way up the stairs to the roof to find the remaining two snipers already fled onto the next roof. The Naboo security snipers who should have been in place on the rooftops weren’t, but Qui-Gon had no time to look for them. He went after his quarry, across the rooftops.

 

Below, Obi-Wan met a figure coming downstairs dressed in a Naboo security uniform and carrying a blaster rifle. There was a bare moment of hesitation as the two confronted one another but it was enough to tell Obi-Wan this wasn’t someone whose appearance could be trusted. Even as he was ducking and rolling, the man’s blaster rifle came up and he squeezed off several wild shots at the space Obi-Wan had recently occupied. Obi-Wan came up to his feet again with a Force gesture that flung the sniper against the wall hard enough to stun him and loosen the rifle from his grip. By the time security arrived, Obi-Wan had a knee in the man’s back and was awkwardly closing binders around his thumbs. The blaster rifle had been kicked into a corner. He let security retrieve it before taking his knee off his prisoner.

Handing his prisoner over, Obi-Wan leapt up the stairs in pursuit of his own master and more quarry, reaching the roof just in time to see a barrage of blaster bolts arc away off Qui-Gon’s green blade three buildings away. A repulsor pod launched itself from the same rooftop. Obi-Wan watched horrified and helpless as Qui-Gon hurled his saber, still ignited and whirling like a scythe, after the pod.

“You fool!” Obi-Wan snarled under his breath.

The blade flashed through the air and struck the pod as more blaster fire erupted from it. Obi-Wan held his breath, watching helplessly. The shots went completely wild though, and Qui-Gon’s saber came back to him unerringly. The pod tumbled suddenly, clipped the edge of a rooftop, flipped over, dumped its two riders, and smashed into a parapet. Obi-Wan ran over the rooftops to where the two snipers—also in Naboo security uniforms—lay in a stunned heap. Qui-Gon arrived only a moment later.

“That was quite some trick, disarming yourself like that in the middle of a firefight,” Obi-Wan observed acidly.

“All’s well that ends well, Master Kenobi,” Qui-Gon replied with a somewhat guilty lopsided smile.

“There’s one below, as well,” Obi-Wan said, tossing Qui-Gon another set of thumb binders. “I’ll send security up for these two, too. Jicky’s taken off with Anakin after the bomber. I’m going after them.”

“Go find your padawan and the boy,” Qui-Gon agreed, snapping the binders on their two prisoners and taking out his com. “I’ll join you shortly. There’s a speederbike below if you think you can work the throttle.”

Obi-Wan flexed his hands and nodded. “Not good enough for saber work yet, but I can do that much.” And he was gone over the parapet himself.

 

“Don’t move,” Jicky ordered in her sternest voice, her saber glowing blue in the sunlight. “I don’t want to have to hurt—”

But before she got the last word out, there was a blaster bolt ricocheting from her blade above the heads of the crowd and she found herself desperately parrying to keep the civilians around her from being hit. She had enough presence of mind to swear to herself she’d do whatever Master Obi-Wan asked of her in the salles from now on if she got through this in one piece without accidentally hurting anyone. Fortunately, her opponent was more intent on escape than on wounding or killing his pursuers. The assassin dove for the repulsor pod again, letting it pull him up above the crowd as he climbed in, aiming the blaster not at Jicky, but randomly into the crowd, as a way of distracting her.

“Anakin! Short it! Quick!” she yelled again in frustration. “He’s getting away!”

Finally, with the repulsor pod and assassin hanging several meters above the crowd and moving off, the pod began to smoke and spin, flinging the man’s legs out as though he were on a carnival ride. Below him, the crowd surged away with shouts and screams, leaving a space occupied only by Anakin and Jicky. Once again, Jicky reached out with the Force and pulled the wobbling pod and its passenger to the ground. Both hit hard and were instantly swarmed by two smallish, would-be Jedi.

 

Despite the tone of confidence he’d projected through their bond at Jicky’s announcement, Obi-Wan was filled with anxiety for his padawan. He wondered if he’d made the right decision, letting her go alone. He knew enough of Anakin to have observed the boy go off half-cocked more than once, with little thought for the consequences that his instinctual use of the Force seemed to spare him. His early impressions of Jicky were that she was more level-headed, and not prone to following anyone impulsively, but this was a new situation for her. He’d watched her in the salles with a critical eye and while she wasn’t bad, she wasn’t where he had been in skills at the same age. And it was clear she didn’t like saberwork. Nor did he yet have a strong sense of the decisions she would make under stress.

What that would mean now was anyone’s guess.

Working the throttle on the speederbike proved more difficult than he’d estimated, but he managed it because he had to. He didn’t want to risk distracting Jicky now by contacting her through the bond, but he could sense that she was both frightened and exhilarated, almost humming with the Force flowing through her. That was a good sign, at least. He turned the speederbike in a tight swoop around the crowd, heading for the back of it, where there seemed to be some commotion and a single repulsor pod struggling to lift off. Smoke began to drift from it even as Obi-Wan drew near.

 

Before the man had time to move, Jicky grabbed an arm and twisted it into a tight and painful thumb and elbow lock augmented just a little with the Force when her captive attempted to wriggle out of it. “I’m not kidding, buddy,” she growled. “You’ll break something if you don’t give it up.” Anakin pinned his legs before the man could start to thrash again. By the time Jicky’s master appeared on a speederbike, their quarry was firmly subdued and more than a little humiliated. Jicky sensed both Master Obi-Wan’s invisible sigh of relief, and his approval. Security pushed their way through the crowd on his heels.

“Padawan. Anakin. You seem to have the situation under control. Well done.”

Jicky kept her eyes focused on her prisoner and her grip on his joints tight, but her smile could have lit several rooms all by itself. “Thanks, Master. It was Anakin’s idea. And he shorted out the repulsor pod.”

“Yeah, but Jicky pulled him off it then pounced on him,” Anakin added. “She was wizard,” he said with admiration. “I wanna learn that thumb lock.”

Jicky gravely surrendered her prisoner to Naboo security and joined her master, who had dismounted from his commandeered speederbike. Qui-Gon appeared in short order, accompanying three more prisoners and a small squadron of security people.

“I’ve spoken to Senator Naberrie, and she seems to be fine for the moment,” the older master said. “Let’s go. Our job isn’t done yet. The inaugural ball is still several hours away, and that seems like the next best opportunity for mischief. With moles in the security staff, we’ll have to be vigilant.”

“There goes my chance to dance with you,” Obi-Wan grumbled.

Qui-Gon flashed him another lop-sided smile. “The night isn’t over yet, Master Kenobi. Come along, Anakin.”

 

They had a very short time in which to ferret out any remaining members of the conspiracy from the security force assigned to protect Senator Naberrie, with only a few hours to the beginning of the ball. Interrogating all of them individually was obviously impractical, given the time constraints. Obi-Wan decided it was a good opportunity to test the limits of his new padawan’s abilities.

“You’ll get to watch Master Jinn in full intimidation mode,” he told Anakin. “But Jicky and I will be doing the real work.”

“This is what it’s come to: I’m merely window dressing for the clever plots of my former padawans,” Qui-Gon mock-lamented. Obi-Wan just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. It would only set a bad example for Jicky.

The detail assigned to Senator Naberrie included the security chief who had followed her from her tenure as queen, Panaka, whose pride had been seriously bruised by the infiltration. The capture of four of his staff by offworld Jedi—two of them only in training yet—had stung him badly too, making him just a little touchier than necessary. Obi-Wan turned on the charm to sooth his ruffled feathers and soon got him to agree to bring in the rest of his detail for a “briefing.”

In short order, Panaka had his people assembled and the briefing began with a full description of what had happened at the inauguration ceremony. This was delivered by Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan apparently standing with his padawan respectfully to the side. In reality, the two of them were observing very carefully, Jicky with her shields almost completely down, as Qui-Gon revealed that it had been not just four people in security uniforms, but four of their own who had attempted to assassinate Senator Naberrie.

“We have reason to believe we’ve not unmasked all of the infiltrators yet,” Qui-Gon added. “Hence your presence in this room.” He began to pace then, slowly, up and down the ranks, saying nothing but fixing each officer with a look that was seemingly mild but which soon induced almost invisible discomfort in at least one of their number.

// _One on the left in the back, Master. The blond, third from the end. He’s freaked about something, but I’m not sure what. All I can hear him saying is “fucking Jedi.” Think maybe he’s trying to cover up something?_ // The flash of sarcasm across the bond nearly made Obi-Wan choke.

// _That might indeed be a possibility,_ // he sent back with the ironic gravitas that Jicky was coming to recognize as her master’s dry humor. // _At the very least, he doesn’t seem to like us very much. Well done, Padawan._ //

Obi-Wan murmured something to Panaka, who waited until Qui-Gon had reached the man Jicky had indicated before calling his name. Both Obi-Wan and Jicky saw the vibroblade appear in the man’s hand and Qui-Gon twist inhumanly quickly to one side. The older Jedi’s own hand flashed out to close on the man’s wrist, where the vulnerability of pressure points forced him to drop the weapon. There was a brief scuffle before he was overwhelmed by his former comrades and led off to an interrogation room.

“If you’d like help with the interrogations, we’re at your service, Major,” Qui-Gon offered to Panaka, who had a truly thunderous expression that didn’t bode well for the prisoners.

“My thanks, Master Jinn,” he responded with a graciousness that obviously cost him something. “This is something I plan on handling personally. And I’d feel better if you were guarding the Senator tonight. I don’t like not being able to trust my own people, and I know I can trust you.”

Qui-Gon gave a stiff little bow, arms pressed against his sides, and acquiesced. Once they had made their way out of Panaka’s office, Obi-Wan stopped him just inside the street entrance.

“Where did he get you and how badly?” Obi-Wan demanded.

“Just a shallow cut along my ribs. It’s ruined my tunic but it’s not bleeding too badly. We’ll have to stop for a bit in our rooms to clean up before the ball, regardless. You can patch me up there,” Qui-Gon insisted, though he was holding his side now with one hand, blood seeping between his fingers.

Obi-Wan frowned and reached for him. “Let me see.”

“It will wait, Master Kenobi,” Qui-Gon countered. “But not long. Let’s not waste time arguing about it.”

Recognizing both Qui-Gon’s stubborn streak surfacing and the situation’s urgency, Obi-Wan retreated and hustled them all into their waiting speeder. Despite their haste, Qui-Gon was looking paler than Obi-Wan liked by the time they made it to their rooms. In the fresher, he sat his former master on a low stool and stripped his tunic away carefully, the blood-soaked material sticking to the edges of a long gash over Qui-Gon’s ribs. It proved to be just deep enough to be messy but not deep enough to have done any real damage, just nicking the bone but no vital organs. Obi-Wan turned to get their pack with their medical supplies and found Jicky standing just behind him with it, though she looked a little pale herself.

“Thank you, Padawan,” he said with genuine gratitude. “Are you all right?”

“I will be,” she said determinedly. “I might have to do this for you some time.”

“You’d be surprised how calm necessity makes one,” he replied. “I’d be glad of the help, but if you’re going to be sick, step away. There’s no shame in it.”

“Yes, Master,” she gulped. Even Anakin kept his distance, watching wide-eyed from the doorway while Obi-Wan pressed a sterile pad to the wound for Qui-Gon to hold while he picked out what was needed from the kit.

Jicky not only wasn’t sick but handed him supplies and helped her master bind the wound after he’d cleaned and packed and sealed it. Qui-Gon endured it all with an unusual stoicism and lack of complaints that Obi-Wan thought was probably due to Jicky’s presence.

“Now, you’ll have a little lie-down and a short healing trance and join us later,” Obi-Wan ordered in a no-nonsense tone.

“Half an hour. And I’ll go with you when you leave,” Qui-Gon countered. “It’s stopped bleeding and you’ve done a fine job binding it up.”

“Even so, you don’t want it opening up again at the ball. There’s no immediate danger. Stop being so contrary and do as I say, Master Jinn. For the good of the mission. You’re setting a bad example.”

Qui-Gon’s expression went from combative to contrite in a blink. “And I hope she bullies you, too, when she’s old enough to do so,” he muttered.

Obi-Wan did roll his eyes then, which only made Jicky grin. Qui-Gon got to his feet gingerly and went to stretch out on their bed. Obi-Wan threw a light coverlet over him, kissed his forehead, and set about cleaning up the mess they’d made, to spare the servants the distasteful task. Afterwards, he changed his own clothes, inspected his padawan and Anakin, and went downstairs with them to check the security arrangements before the ball.

 

The ball, held in the Naberries’s ancestral home, was itself an anticlimax after the excitement of the inauguration, at least in Jicky’s view. She and Anakin were by no means the two youngest in attendance, but they both stuck close to their master or master-to-be throughout the evening as both men kept vigilant eyes on Padme’s whereabouts, the crowd, the exits, and the windows. Qui-Gon joined them shortly after most of the guests had arrived, looking better for his enforced healing. “Just a little stiff now,” he said, touching his side.

“You’ve left the bandage on?” Obi-Wan asked in alarm.

“Yes, fusspot. Now, tell me about the security.” He listened intently as Obi-Wan did so, agreeing with Obi-Wan’s conclusion that they were unlikely to meet with any more incidents tonight. “Our presence wasn’t planned for, or the attempt this afternoon would quite likely have succeeded,” Qui-Gon agreed. “What does your sense of the future tell you, Obi-Wan?”

Qui-Gon’s younger partner was surprised at the question; he’d never been asked for that kind of input before. Perhaps his former master was beginning to take Obi-Wan’s prescience more seriously. “Nothing in the near future,” he replied. “I think what danger I sensed this afternoon is over now. But there’s sure to be more in store for Padme, when she takes up her post.”

“About which we can do little. Live in the moment.”

Anakin was asked to dance by Padme, and could talk about nothing else the rest of the night, though the effect was rather spoiled later by her dance with Obi-Wan.

“I realize you’re on duty, but I wonder if perhaps you might be spared for one dance, now that Master Jinn is here?” Padme wheedled. “I’ve heard from the Organas that you have a flair for Arigo.”

Obi-Wan raised a dubious eyebrow. “I haven’t danced it since Bail’s inauguration ball, so I may be a bit rusty.”

“I’m sure it will come back to you,” Qui-Gon said mildly, a dangerous amusement quirking one side of his mouth. “I’ll keep an eye on things, though I don’t believe you’re in any danger now, Senator.”

As it had at Bail Organa’s inauguration ball, the performance brought all else to a halt and cleared the floor. Padme was not quite up to the level of skill Bail’s sister had been, but as any good dance partner will, Obi-Wan made her seem as expert as he. And it did come back to him, the way katas did. Padme had a happy glow by the time they were done, though Obi-Wan had barely broken a sweat.“Thank you,” she whispered and kissed him, not at all chastely.

“My pleasure,” Obi-Wan murmured, bemused. He had enjoyed himself quite shamelessly and was surprised by his own reaction to having Padme in his arms.

“Well,” Qui-Gon observed when he returned, “that should keep the rumor mill well fed here and on Coruscant.”

“I imagine that was at least part of the purpose,” Obi-Wan agreed. “It’s not a bad tactic, making it seem as though you’re intimate with a particular Jedi. Though I can’t say I minded very much being used that way.”

“No, I can see that,” Qui-Gon agreed archly. “I think the rest of Padme’s purpose was pure animal pleasure. At least one of us got to dance Arigo tonight. I’m afraid it’s a bit too strenuous for me at the moment.”

“Not that we could ever dance it together in public anyway,” Obi-Wan smiled slyly, “but I would like to dance something with you tonight. That was half my point in coming here.”

“Yes, something slow would be good,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Do you sense any imminent danger? No? Then this will do,” he said, whisking Obi-Wan onto the dance floor once again. After a few moments, it was clear he was reaffirming his own claim to Obi-Wan’s affections, their bodies pressed together, moving as one. Padme winked at the two of them as she glided by in the arms of another guest, a more acceptable distance between the two of them.

Anakin watched grumpily from the sidelines. “The mush is getting pretty deep in here,” he grumbled.

“Jedi aren’t supposed to be jealous,” Jicky observed.

“Oh, shut up,” Anakin responded, sulking.

Padme and her entourage left just before midnight. Though invited to the afterparty, and not for security reasons, both Jedi declined, though Jicky seemed very interested. “That’s a privilege of senior padawans, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan informed her.

“And junior padawans,” Qui-Gon added unhelpfully, “who are clever enough not to be caught sneaking out.”

Obi-Wan gave his former master an outraged look and pulled him back onto the dance floor, where he planned on both making the best of the rest of the evening and objecting strenuously to Qui-Gon’s encouragement of bad behavior in his padawan.

“Except Jicky’s been quite exemplary, so far,” Qui-Gon countered.

“I’d prefer it remained that way,” Obi-Wan snorted. “Or at least that I not know about it. She’s only been a padawan for a bit over a ten, and I’m sure she’ll find her own way into mischief without any help from you. I certainly did.”

“Oh? What mischief was that, Perfect Padawan?”

“Secrets that will go with me into the Force,” Obi-Wan grinned. “Dare we risk a not-too-strenuous Arigo in public? It’s probably the last dance of the evening.”

“Then let’s not waste it, _kosai_ ,” Qui-Gon agreed. And though it was a more subdued performance than they usually indulged in even in public, it was sensuous enough to provoke both applause and slightly scandalized looks. It evoked in Obi-Wan a deep sense of pleasure mirrored in his master, and it left both of them mildly aroused. They managed to refrain from acting on it until the young ones were asleep, Obi-Wan had checked his former master’s wound, and they were in their own bed. Then, Obi-Wan moved into Qui-Gon’s arms, settling there with a sigh.

“Now tell me what you were sorry for this morning,” Qui-Gon murmured into his hair, big blunt fingers skating slowly up and down Obi-Wan’s spine.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s just me,” Obi-Wan said quietly, lying with his head on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

“I think it is just you, but obviously it matters. Tell me.”

Obi-Wan sighed again, a little more heavily this time. “I just felt like what we were doing—what I was doing—was more about power than about love. That I was using sex to—I don’t know. To get the upper hand over you. Turn the tables. Teach you a lesson. Something.”

“You were definitely topping from below last night. But you said you needed more control, so it may have been more about power in your mind than in mine. We’ve switched roles before. What was different about last night?”

“Me, I guess. I think you’re right, there. I can’t tell the difference between topping and being a bad dom anymore.”

“Or being a bottom and being helpless?”

“Less so. Well, maybe not. I’ve still got sex and power and control all wound up together.”

“They always are, _kosai_. I think perhaps you just had a clearer sense of where the boundaries were before. Does it help to know that nothing you did last night felt wrong to me?”

“Some, yes. At least I have a point of reference then,” Obi-Wan said sourly.

“ _Kosai_ , I’ve been the dominant one in this relationship for a long time, mostly out of necessity. But that changed when you were knighted. Those roles aren’t fixed now. If you feel the need to dom to work something out, I’ll be happy to sub for you.”

“You don’t mind?”

“My heart, I’m trying to tell you that I enjoyed last night. Very much. Frankly, sometimes it’s a relief to relinquish control of any kind to someone else. I’ve been a master for a very long time, as you so frequently point out. And you’re a very good dom.”

“Well, then—” Obi-Wan began, then lifted his head with a frown. “Be right back,” he said, nimbly extricating himself from Qui-Gon’s arms and their bed. He padded into the suite’s sitting room in nothing but his small clothes, switching on the lights and catching Jicky fully clothed and creeping toward the exit.

“Padawan,” he said mildly, crossing his arms. “You have an explanation?”

“I suppose it would be worse if I said I was just going for a drink of water, right?”

“A probability approaching certainty,” he agreed.

“Yeah, thought so. I was just testing out Master Jinn’s statement, then.”

“Much better. Though I don’t believe you’ll care for the results of the experiment.”

“Grounded?” she asked, wincing.

“At the very least.”

“Extra katas, too?” This with a decidedly unhappy face.

“And?”

“Uh, an essay, huh?” And now positively crestfallen.

“Oh, yes. Subject and length to be determined later. Where’s Anakin?”

“Waiting to see if I got out before he tried it,” Jicky replied with resignation.

“Was there a bet involved?”

“Um, yeah.”

“And you bet I wouldn’t find out.”

“No, I bet he’d really get it from Master Jinn for starting it.”

Obi-Wan laughed aloud. “Wise choice, Padawan. Back to bed with you. We’ll deal with Anakin in the morning.”

After making sure the younglings were indeed tucked into their beds and would stay there this time, Obi-Wan returned to his own, peeling off his small clothes and leaving them on the floor.

“I wondered why you’d left those on,” Qui-Gon said as Obi-Wan slipped in beside him again.

“Call it my suspicious nature. You’re going to have your hands full with Anakin, too, you know.”

“All the more reason to let you have your hands full of me,” Qui-Gon agreed in a growl.

 

* * *

 

 

The trip home was uneventful, aside from the stern lecture Qui-Gon delivered to Anakin.

“But you said it first,” the boy protested a little sullenly.

“Yes, and that’s the privilege of masters, Anakin. It’s the job of padawans and initiates to divine our meaning—including how serious we are. I also suggest that in the future you do your own dirty work, rather than instigating others to do it, and that you try other egresses than the front door.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, only aiming a pointed look in Jicky’s direction. His padawan looked down dejectedly. She’d been quite subdued since being caught, not bouncing back to her usual sunny self.

“In addition, you lost the bet with Padawan Salis.”

“Yeah,” Anakin replied glumly.

“And what made you think I wouldn’t discipline you?”

“I didn’t think we’d get caught. That Jicky would get caught.”

The girl looked up then, narrowing her eyes at Anakin. “I heard that,” she said. “Don’t call me a dumb girl again, Skywalker.”

“Indeed,” Qui-Gon agreed, raising a prohibitive eyebrow. “Aside from the fact that it’s rude, this was a two-fool operation without regard for gender. I’ll have to teach you something about analyzing the odds, Ani. That was a poor bet.”

“Not like betting on me in the Boonta Eve races, huh?” The boy returned with a mischievous grin.

“Not at all like it. Master Kenobi disapproves of gambling, but it can be useful to do it well at times. If you’re going to bet, Anakin, do it wisely. Doing it well involves having a clear sense of the odds of winning. Jicky is as yet too inexperienced to have a high likelihood of success in fooling her master. Her bet with you took that into account was shrewdly phrased.”

Jicky looked quizzical at that, not sure whether it was praise or a reprimand.

“Which doesn’t mean you should have made the bet at all,” Obi-Wan added.

“No, Master,” she mumbled and looked down dejectedly again.

“Since you’re not yet officially my padawan, I’ll let the creche master discipline you, Ani,” Qui-Gon went on. “But I suspect you’ll end up with the near equivalent of what Jicky’s received.”

“But I didn’t actually _do_ anything. Except make a bad bet. And if the creche master is disciplining me, then I actually won it.”

“The creche master will be disciplining you at my behest, though I must commend your hair-splitting logic,” Qui-Gon replied ironically. “And though your capture of the bomber is commendable, you also disobeyed my orders, Anakin. If you’re to become a padawan, you’re going to have to learn to obey. I want you to remember that you’re being punished as much for disobedience as for instigating Jicky’s actions. And that the things we say often have consequences equal to the things we do.”

“Both of you need to think about that,” Obi-Wan added. “There’s your essay, Padawan. A thousand words when we get back.”

Jicky opened her mouth to protest and shut it again almost immediately. “Yes, Master,” she said instead, with an uncharacteristic meekness.

 

Jicky remained subdued through their trip back, enough so that it worried Obi-Wan a little. _Enough stick. Time for a bit of sweet_ , he thought as they headed down the hall toward the creche, Obi-Wan shouldering his own pack.

“You conducted yourself very professionally while we were guarding Senator Naberrie, Jicky,” he remarked casually, his hand resting lightly on the girl’s shoulder. “I think the bomber might have gotten away if you and Anakin hadn’t gone after him. Even though Anakin disobeyed orders, it was a good call on your part. Well done.”

“Thanks, Master,” she said, brightening a little.

“I also think it’s time you moved in with us,” he continued. “Let’s collect your things, and I’ll help you set up your new room.”

“So you’re not mad at me? About the sneaking out?” She looked up at him hopefully.

“No, I’m not angry. Let’s just say I rather expected it, after the goading you got from Master Jinn. Which doesn’t mean what you did wasn’t wrong. Nor does it absolve you of responsibility for your actions.”

“No, Master. I guess not,” she sighed. “Doesn’t seem quite fair though, that Anakin and I get punished and Master Jinn doesn’t.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan replied slyly, “Master Jinn will be severely dealt with, rest assured.”

“That, I’d like to sell tickets to,” Jicky muttered under her breath.

“Padawan? Do you have something else to say?”

“No, nothing, Master,” she said lightly. “Just happy to be home.” She did seem happier now, the bond humming with quiet contentment between them.

Obi-Wan let it go. He was happy to be home again himself and surprisingly happy that Jicky was moving in. And happy they’d all survived what had been an unexpectedly dangerous trip to Naboo. It hadn’t been quite like old times working with Qui-Gon again, but in many ways, it had been better, despite his former master’s occasional foolishness. Obi-Wan felt, at last, like an equal not an adjunct, his observations and thoughts given equal consideration in the partnership. Jicky was having a definite positive effect on both of them, he decided, lending a new weight to his own status and reining in his master’s worst behavior. Qui-Gon had even gone off to the healers on arrival to have his wound looked at without so much as a mild complaint. That alone was something of a miracle.

Obi-Wan stroked Jicky’s soft hair and she looked up at him with the wide grin he’d rapidly grown to love. At the same time, there was a twinge of annoyance through his bond with Qui-Gon. The healers were probably demanding something unreasonable from him, like that he not spar for a few days while the gash in his side healed completely. He’d have his work cut out for him with Qui-Gon tonight. Obi-Wan found himself mirroring Jicky’s grin.

 

Master Kenobi had second thoughts about his decision when he padded out to breakfast several mornings later and found Qui-Gon and Jicky at the table, heads almost touching as they bent together over something Qui-Gon was holding. They started away from each other with an air of guilty conspiracy as soon as Obi-Wan appeared.

“What are you two up to?” he asked suspiciously.

Jicky looked up with a guilty and excited expression while Qui-Gon looked merely amused. “We’re speculating on what Senator Naberrie has to say to you in the note she sent you,” he said, extending another heavy envelope to Obi-Wan. “I think you’d better open it before Jicky bursts with curiosity.”

“Why haven’t you opened it—Oh, I see,” he said, taking it from Qui-Gon’s hand. It was addressed to “Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Like the invitation, this card was very ornate and old-fashioned, sealed with the Naberrie crest and—Obi-Wan sniffed suspiciously—perfumed.

“You see why we were so curious,” Qui-Gon said, smirking. “Perfumed notes from a young woman.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and broke the seal. Inside was a single sheet with only a few words on it. Obi-Wan felt himself coloring up as he read them.

Qui-Gon raised a matching eyebrow. Obi-Wan held the paper out to him.

 _Thank you for such an exciting dance,_ it read. _I hope to enjoy many more with you._ Padme’s name was signed with a flourish below.

“Well, that’s quite a bit more intimate than the thank-you I received,” Qui-Gon said. Though he looked stern and disapproving, what came through the bond was clearly amusement.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling an incipient headache. “I’ll have to quash this now, before—”

“Oh, before what?” Qui-Gon retorted, laughing at last. “Why shouldn’t a lovely young woman like Padme enjoy dancing with you and look forward to more? I certainly do.”

“No disrespect, Master, but you two were pretty hot on that dance floor,” Jicky added.

Obi-Wan flushed a little more. “She must know—”

It was all Qui-Gon could do not to ravage him there. “She knows nothing of the sort, Master Kenobi. The Jedi don’t approve of attachments, remember?” Qui-Gon was full of mischief this morning, delighting in Obi-Wan’s discomfiture.

“Impossible man,” Obi-Wan grumbled, leaning over to kiss him. “I haven’t even had tea yet. And you,” he said with an eye to Jicky, “have classes, don’t you?”

“Yes, Master,” Jicky agreed and grinned. She picked up her datapad and pack and headed for the door.

“I’ll see you at fourth hour in the salles, Padawan,” Obi-Wan called after her.

“Yes, Master!” she waved, acknowledging the reminder as the door slid shut behind her.

“I was about to say, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan rounded on his own master, as soon as she was gone, “before you so rudely interrupted me, doesn’t Padme know that I’m already madly in love with someone?” He leaned down and kissed Qui-Gon again, and was pulled down to straddle the older man’s lap. “And that I prefer to dance with you before anyone else?”

“No,” Qui-Gon replied with a little sadness, “I’m sure she only sees a handsome young man, lithe and fiery on the dance floor and a little reserved off it. Remember your own advice to Jicky, love. Enjoy yourself where and when you can.”

“I do. And when I’m with you, that’s all I the pleasure I desire,” he murmured against Qui-Gon’s lips, cupping the big man’s face between his hands.

“Leave off the beard for a while, would you?” Qui-Gon said in a voice gone gravelly. “Just until you’re back in the field?”

“If you like,” Obi-Wan agreed with a smile. “Padme seems to like the look, too.”

“That’s how she remembers you. She’s not seen you since before your knighting. And there was no time for flirting with you then.”

“Is that what she’s doing, do you think?” Obi-Wan leaned back, but remained on Qui-Gon’s lap, the older man’s arms around his waist. “Or am I merely a convenient cover for her?”

“A little of both, probably. I think she’d like to feel she has a reliable friend here, besides me. Someone nearer her own age. And when you’re in Temple, you’d certainly make a useful escort for her at official functions.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Like I’m some rent boy.”

“You’re certainly attractive enough to be one. I’d hire you.” Qui-Gon smirked, rather liking the idea. “Padme won’t be lacking in offers of companionship, I imagine, but being seen in regular company with a Jedi is another thing altogether. There’s always been a certain cachet to it among senators, and it can be a useful connection for both sides. I wouldn’t decline Padme’s interest so quickly, _kosai_. It can offer you the same advantages my association with Finis has, in a decidedly more attractive and lively package. I know you don’t like politics and don’t approve of the Jedi being involved in it, but I fear we’re entering a time when we can no longer, for our own safety, stay neutral.”

“That’s something you would say,” Obi-Wan replied. “Except I fear myself that you’re right. Very well, Master Jinn, I’ll take your advice, even though I think there’s a part of you that’s matchmaking, like you did with Bruck.”

“Not matchmaking. Making sure of your happiness,” Qui-Gon said softly. “I won’t always be here for you.”

“You’re here now, _iji aijinn_. That’s what matters.” Obi-Wan whispered, and kissed him.


End file.
